


I Your Loved Ones' Watch Am Keeping

by QueenMaria



Series: Grey-Dawn [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2018-03-13
Packaged: 2018-11-12 12:56:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11162292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenMaria/pseuds/QueenMaria
Summary: Aneira doesn't have a family of her own any longer, and only holds onto precious memories of parents and home. So she does everything she can to keep the families of Skyrim safe from any threat that comes their way.





	1. Chapter 1

Jordis crouched low on her left, wincing when her armor inevitably creaked and shifted with her body. The shadows cast down the mountain left them cloaked in relative darkness for the moment, but the sunlight that left the shore line glittering so beautifully with snow, salt, and ice would only illuminate them for the Thalmor guards in the keep. Aneira almost wished for the Elven armor that she'd given to Malborn instead of her wolf armor, because at least then she might be able to get close enough to start using her magic before anyone realized she wasn't actually an Altmer.

Alas, that armor was safely or soon to be safely secured away somewhere in the Thalmor Embassy, awaiting her break-in that hopefully wouldn't involve too much breaking. And she refused to wait that long to bring Eorlund and Fralia word of their son.

"There may be another entrance around the other side, my Th-" Jordis cut off her whisper, the sound barely carrying in the silence. "But we cannot get there without the guards along the wall spotting us."

Aneira chose not to bother thanking Jordis for dropping the formal address at that moment. It could wait until later. "I agree. My main concern is that we will be spotted no matter where we come from." She flicked her gaze along the top of the mountains, noting the dark peaks that would only obscure the sun for so much longer. "We've missed our chance to take them by surprise already."

"We could still begin with our bows," her housecarl whispered carefully. "Between us we could take out at least three of the guards along the battlements."

"I don't think we're going to even get close enough for that without them seeing us." Aneira slid her focus along the grey stone of the keep's walls. "There are two facing this direction, and there will be more along every stairwell and the other walls. There aren't enough trees or rocks for us to hide behind to get in range." As if to emphasize her point, a Thalmor along the wall shifted or turned around so that the sharp glint of their armor flashed toward them.

"Well, what do you suggest? Do you want to go back to the cave and wait until nightfall?"

Aneira scoffed, running her hand across the stones in annoyance. "I'm not dragging us back to sit along the shoreline for another day. We're going now, but…" Aneira trailed off, her lips twitching as she glanced over at her recently acquired friend.

"What?" Jordis asked, tone appropriately wary and no longer fearing reprimand for challenging her Thane's decisions. It hadn't taken long to knock that out of her, but still. It was gratifying.

"You aren't going to like it," Aneira grinned a little lopsidedly at her, returning her precious Blackbow to her back.

Jordis gave a huff of laughter. "You know, this journey along the coast has been full of plans like that. But then we're charging into some terrible situation and your plans get us out alive. So," the blonde gestured carelessly toward the fortress, "lead on."

* * *

"Now I suggest you turn around and go back the way you came."

Aneira brought her hands behind her back, clasping them together once before returning them to her sides. Hopefully Jordis was positioned somewhere that she could see the signal.

The guard looked irritated, but Aneira knew enough about the world to know that the Thalmor weren't all fools. The imperious mer wouldn't take his eyes off her, and he wouldn't just assume that she would walk away with nothing after she'd apparently made the trek out to the border of Skyrim.

He was right, in that respect. Aneira would _not_ leave this place without Thorald. Or, if the worst came to be true, without giving his poor mother and father what little closure she could.

"This doesn't concern the Imperial Legion, or General Tullius. The only person you should be concerned with right now is me."

"You are attempting to interfere with Aldmeri business. Now _leave!_ " Aneira leaned into position. "Or be dealt with swiftly!"

He made a strange hiccupping noise, hand half raised in the attack motion of mages as Aneira jerked Bloodthorn back out of his throat as smoothly as she could. It hadn't gone through at the greatest angle, the Altmer's curving gold helmet forcing her to shove it through the center of his neck and up into his head. The Altmer flailed for a moment as his left hand changed from the purple shade of some conjuration spell to a familiar golden glow. The light faded away again so quickly that the mer never got the spell off, blood pushing through his mouth to stain the material and armor beneath his chin.

Aneira darted back, listening for the alarm of any of the other elves. The kill had been quiet enough, but the guards along the wall had surely been on alert ever since she approached the fort.

Sure enough, another golden clad head appeared over the ramparts a few moments later, leaning over to get a look at Aneira's recent mess.

"Foolish human! Your time is-" Aneira's lightning bolt caught his helmet, sending the purple strings of power through the mer's body. The soldier didn't even have time to shake it off before an arrow landed in his shoulder, sending him out of sight with a metallic _clang_!

The shouts of the other guards rose up from within the walls, followed swiftly by the sounds of stomping feet. Aneira darted backward past the meager blockade, hoping it could at least help to keep them all confined for a moment while she did her best to hinder them. She drew the Blackbow quickly from her back, notching one of the old Nordic arrows. The first elf that appeared from the left received a blow to her breastplate, piercing her below her right breast.

Jordis launched another arrow into the mass of burnished gold, catch one of the mer at the crease of her thigh. The Altmer stumbled, falling to one knee and catching a few of her comrades in the process. The other Thalmor didn't pay her much heed, swiftly moving around and past her until they were almost past the barricade.

" _Iiz_!"

The first three guards toppled like trees, their limbs frozen comically in front of them. The next three slowed in the face of the ice, moving more stiffly until they were stepping over their comrades. Aneira managed to put another arrow in one, and Jordis another, before they were upon her. It was fortunate that none were the wizards, or there'd have been more magic involved beyond conjured swords.

As it was, she hooked her bow around her back as quickly as she could and readied the frost in her hands. It was a simple matter of aiming correctly from there.

An ice spike struck the closest in the chest, penetrating the armor enough that the shiny yellow was quickly stained with red. Jordis thankfully put on arrow in another soldier before he could get too close, delaying him long enough for Aneira to use another spike on him.

"Pathetic human!" The last standing Thalmor bellowed, arm raised high to bring the sword down on her. She cupped her hands together and sent a wave of frost directly into his face, making her foe falter long enough to force Bloodthorn through the weaker armor beneath his arm.

The ice shattered and fell away from the three Thalmor still affected by her shout, and Aneira rolled her shoulders to loosen the muscles before bringing her magicka up once more.

Thorald was going home to his family. She would make damn sure of that.

* * *

"I never thought I'd see another friendly face." The man took a deep breath, legs twitching beneath him. "We need to get to safety as soon as possible. Let's move."

His strong words were belied almost immediately when the large Nord pitched to the side as the first handcuff came free, swinging helplessly by the wrist that was still secured. Aneira hurried to undo the other lock, calling anxiously to Jordis to see if she found any potions or garments. Thorald's wrists were bruised and bleeding, flakes and fresh blood coating the inside of the restraints.

The rest of him wasn't much better. His legs didn't support him, lying bent at the ankle, but still looked thick enough to work once they got him free. The cuts and burns along his torso would be healed well enough if they were as fresh as they looked. If they didn't find some stamina potions, he wasn't going to make it very far with them, and they had a long journey still ahead. If they lingered anywhere along the coast to let themselves rest, their own exhaustion could mean their demise if more Thalmor arrived at the Keep.

"I'm sorry, there's only this one stamina and magicka potions. I can't find anything else in here." Jordis set out the potions on the torturer's table, hastily sweeping aside the disgusting and rust colored daggers. "There was plenty of food back through the keep, though. I'll double back and pick up as much of that that we can carry. The mead will bolster him enough to get us out of here." The housecarl reached out to help Aneira ease the large man to the ground as the cuff finally clicked open, caked as it had been with blood. "There's got to be more clothes left in other rooms. I'll see what I can find for him." The blonde looked pointedly at his bare feet. "He needs shoes at the very least."

Aneira nodded, positioning the man against the wall to heal him as quickly and thoroughly as possible. "Go, find what you can." She looked at Thorald as her left hand moved from his head to his neck. "You're going to have to eat something before we leave, even if it's just a bit of bread or soup. The provisions we have stored down the coast are still a good distance away." Aneira put both hands on his chest, trying to force the burned skin away with heavy doses of high level restoration. She panted a little, feeling her magicka reserves depleting quickly from the constant use.

"Whatever you say," Thorald replied dully, breathing heavily but shakily from where he was propped. "Just get us out of here before more of them come back." The large man's voice trembled the slightest bit on the last word.

"We will," Aneira stated firmly, reaching over to quickly gulp down the magicka potion and continue healing him.

When the last of his wounds had sealed shut and his internal injuries could no longer be felt, she brought him up gingerly to sit in one of the chairs. "Rest here until Jordis gets back. She'll have something for you." Aneira reached over, pressing the lip of the stamina potion against his. "Have a few sips. Let's see if we can give you some strength back."

Thorald did as he was bid, and soon enough was sitting up straight against the chair. "Divines, usually they just throw me a healing potion and shove wet bread into my mouth. I feel like a newborn colt."

"Have you lost a lot of blood?" Aneira asked, popping the cork back into the bottle.

"Ah, not as much as it looks like, I don't think." His mouth twitched as he glanced behind himself. "They mostly stuck to the irons and prods. Didn't break the skin too often."

"I hate to say it, but that's a good thing." She frowned apologetically at his depressed grimace. "If you didn't lose too much blood, we have one less thing to worry about while we move along the coast."

"You keep mentioning the coast, but," Thorald trailed off, working his throat to clear it. Aneira quickly moved away to her pack, pulling out a bottle of water to give him. Gulping it down quickly, Thorald wiped a hand across his mouth. "I don't know where we are. They grabbed me outside Whiterun while I was heading out to," he paused again, "to get something for my mother, I think." His hair swayed across his face in silvery wisps as he shook his head. "They put a dart in my neck, and I couldn't move. One of those paralyzing poisons, the bastards." Thorald's face grew stormy. "Snatching people in our holds. What has this country come to?" He glared over her shoulder, no doubt eyeing the embalming tools on the table near the entryway. "Did the Jarl even send anyone out for me? Are you from Balgruuf? Or did everyone just say I went missing?"

Aneira bit her lip. "It seemed," she began haltingly, "that your mother and family always knew the truth. Your mother gave quite the tongue lashing to the Battle-Borns in the market. To be honest, I never spoke to the Jarl about it."

Thorald let his head fall backwards with a derisive laugh. "The Battle-Borns. Sons of bitches probably turned me over to the damn Thalmor themselves. Earned a few more pieces of gold." His face grew hard, and he brought his fist down weakly against the wood table. "Their hands ought to run red with their kinsman's blood, and all they do is run off to fawn over the gods damned elves!"

Moving to pick up a mostly clean rag from a different table, Aneira covered it in some of the water. She rubbed it across the prisoner's face, clearing away at least a layer of the dirt and blood. He hummed gratefully, tilting his head to allow her access to his neck. Aneira took a quiet breath before speaking lowly.

"We're at Northwatch Keep. It's an older fortress along the coast. Just about as far along the coast as you could go before Skyrim ends." She rewet the cloth, moving down to the scarlets bracelets around his wrists. "We didn't see any Thalmor patrolling along the coast on the way here, but that may not mean much."

"Gods above, I didn't realize we were so close to the border." A shudder ran through him. "Perhaps I should be grateful they didn't drop me on a damn ship." He took his cleaned hand and brought it to his knotted and mangled hair. Thorald swallowed, looking at her again. "But why would _you_ risk your life for me, a stranger? You haven't said who you are."

Aneira gave him a soft smile. "You family was concerned for you."

Snorting, Thorald shook his head. "Of course. I should have known. This was all Avulstein's idea, wasn't it? Where is he?"

"I told him to wait in Whiterun. It didn't seem right to risk his life as well, when your mother," Aneira paused, hesitating, before she continued. "I didn't want to risk both of her sons, when the thought of losing you has left her so desperate." She glanced back toward the entryway, hoping Jordis would bring back new clothes soon.

Thorald's expression turned to grief. "Aye, I can't imagine how hard this must've been on her. And at her age…" Thorald wiped a tired and across his eyes.

"She's the one who begged me to find you, if I could. Your father told her about me, I guess."

Now Thorald frowned again. "How does my father know you? Are you a Companion?"

"I am," Aneira said a little proudly, knocking a fist against the grey armor. "Your father outfitted this for me not so long ago." She didn't need to mention that the smith had probably told Fralia about her because she was the Dragonborn. Being a Companion was more than honorable enough.

Thorald's eyes dropped to the wolf's face roaring out at him. "Oh, aye, of course. I should have recognized that." He raised her eyes back to hers. "How much did they have to pay for a Companion to be sent? Rescue missions don't come cheap."

"Nothing at all," Aneira replied, setting down the cloth and bringing up the stamina potion again. "I owe your father a great deal for this armor, and for allowing me to use his forge."

Thorald narrowed his eyes at her. "You're a Companion that smiths?"

"I am," She answered, tipping the potion up a second time for him to swallow. "And I couldn't let your parents linger in misery as they have been."

His mouth worked a little, eyes tracking her face slowly. After a moment he nodded, lowering his gaze to the floor.

"And you should know," she began hesitantly, kneeling in front of him to start peeling away the worn and filthy trousers from his ankles, "that Idolaf was the reason I was able to find you."

She had managed to roll his left pant leg up to his knee and begin washing his calf by the time he gruffly spoke.

"How?"

"I basically hounded him until he told me the truth. After you went missing, he still cared enough to make inquiries through his connections with the Legion." The second leg now. "He had a letter stating where you were, and to stop looking into it. Cruel as it may have been," she paused again, "he didn't think you could be saved. He'd rather your family think that you were simply dead than… here."

" _Hmph_." Thorald made a noise halfway between disgust and grief. "More like he was too much of a damn coward to admit his precious Empire was letting the Thalmor run off with innocent Nords."

"Maybe," Aneira replied, turning as she heard footsteps approaching. "But he did search until he knew the truth."

Thorald didn't say anything to that, looking at Jordis and grimacing when it turned out all she could find were some fine clothes and thin boots.

"None of these elves have feet large enough to fit you," the housecarl murmured apologetically, handing him the clothes. "But I found plenty of mead and food for you."

Reaching out to take the bits of bread and bits of salmon, the snowy haired man thanked her housecarl fervently. Aneira eyed him carefully as she catalogued what Jordis had found, lips pressed together in thought.

* * *

"They'll go looking for me, and Whiterun will be the first place they search.

Almost a full day's walk, ducking and dodging anyone coming along the coast, darting into pathetic caves and nearly alerting an entire fortress of bandits and scum that there were travelers about, and the man was still sticking to the same path.

"I cannot thank you enough for rescuing me from that place. I suspect I'd never see the light of day otherwise."

Aneira stiffly bit the inside of her lip, fighting more so than usual to remain calm and try to convince the stubborn man not to do this.

"But I cannot stay. Not here, not in Whiterun. It likely won't be safe for Avulstein, either." Thorald waved his recently acquired iron mace, testing the balance of it in his hand despite having used it on a handful of bandits along the coastline earlier. "Our best hope now is to fall in with the ranks of the Stormcloaks."

Aneira sighed heavily, resolving herself to make her argument again.

"But would you do me a favor? Tell my mother to suffer the winter's cold wind, for it bears aloft next summer's seeds." Thorald gave Aneira a small smile over the fire. "She'll know what it means."

Aneira ran her left hand through her hair, sighing quietly. "I truly wish you would reconsider this," she began carefully. The last thing she needed was to upset the man again. He'd only been free from captivity for about three fourths of a day. "You should give her that message _yourself_. It's been far too long since they could see you in person." She tried hard not to raise her voice at him, at a man left hanging by his wrists in agony for who knows how long. Her father would be reprimanding her very sharply if she did that now. "Your mother was nearly out of her mind with worry about you. Your father wants to know what happened to his youngest son more than a year ago. And your brother," she scoffed sadly, tilting her face toward the dusty rock ceiling of High Gate. "He was ready to tear the Keep apart and get himself killed just to find you. I made him stay home so he didn't end up dead."

Thorald's eyes glittered in the firelight, his jaw clenching and twitching, emphasizing how thin and gaunt he had become under the Thalmor's horrendous care. Aneira felt a twitch of guilt at upsetting him, but still. She strived in everything she did to do the right thing, the wise thing, the just thing. Julianos was the Divine most often beseeched by her, but Kynareth and Stendarr were never far behind. And she couldn't forgive herself if she returned to Fralia without her son and hadn't even tried to talk him out of running away.

Jordis broke the silence by cautiously stirring the vegetable soup over the fire, scraping and tapping the spoon as she poured Thorald a second bowl of broth.

"You didn't hear the things they asked," Gray-Mane coughed out brokenly. "If I go back, if I talk to anyone, they'll be taken away."

Jordis looked up now, watching their charge warily as he stood shakily to his feet.

"They asked over and over and _over_ again." Thorald rasped out harshly, staring at her while his face grew flushed. "Where are the Talos shrines? Who worships him? Where does my, my _family_ keep their amulets?" Aneira watched him, shame beginning to burn in her full belly at his deep, mournful tone. "And then they'd leave me alone in one of those damn cells for weeks. If I take even a step into Whiterun," He made another sound of grief, and the Dragonborn shifted on the ground, her own dinner unappealing now. "You want me to risk my family just to spend a few minutes with them again?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't want to upset you," she said softly, watching as he inhaled and exhaled heavily. "Truly. But you do need to think about this." She pushed past her hesitation, knowing he would resent her words but needing to speak them all the same. "The Stormcloaks are not going to win. The _rebellion_ is not going to win."

Thorald looked at her, clearly affronted. "We've lasted far longer than any of their soldiers thought we would. And we'll outlast that broken Empire that cannot even protect its citizens from a sadistic group of murderers!" He began to yell at the end, looking between Jordis and Aneira in outrage. "You're a Nord, Housecarl, and you said you were her Thane. But you're both from Solitude." Thorald rolled his shoulders back, flexing the meager muscles. "You've both been living too long with Tullius's lies to see anything clearly.

Jordis opened her mouth, no doubt ready to tell their rescued kinsman where he could take his theory, when Aneira spoke over her.

"I am _not_ , from Solitude, or even from this country, actually." Thorald looked at her again, eyes still narrowed in angry disbelief. "I'm from Bruma, and I've only been in Skyrim for some months now. But," she held up a hand to halt his reply, "I've seen firsthand what this civil war is doing to the people. _All_ of the people, and not just the Nords. Ulfric's icy sanctuary in Windhelm is only a haven for Nords. Everyone else is left to live in poverty and persecution. He doesn't even deign to have their streets and houses repaired, while the wealthy Nords live in well maintained homes. He makes the Argonians live outside the protection of the walls, practically dropping them into the Yorgrim and ice." Thorald didn't look appropriately outraged at that, and Aneira's frustration with the whole situation only escalated. "That is _not_ what Skyrim is going to turn into. The countryside is nearly unlivable thanks to the bandits that have taken over. The guards are all too busy preparing for the Holds to launch assaults on each other. Not to mention the terror over the dragons' return."

Aneira would've gone on, intent on driving home her point about the Stormcloak's idiotic "Skyrim for the Nords" mentality, when Thorald's mouth dropped open and he gaped at her dumbly.

"The _whats_ returning?"

Jordis jerked a look between her Thane and Thorald, mouth opening and closing like she had also just realize an important point. And Aneira, for her part, was suddenly reminded of just how long this man had been held as a prisoner to a sadistic group of mass murderers with no help from the faltering Empire that had sworn to protect him.

* * *

Jordis handed Thorald another bottle of water as he gathered the meager belongings he had. The iron, hide, and leather armor pieces they'd lifted from the bandits keeping watch at the caves along the coast could hardly be warm enough for him. But it wasn't as though it would be safe to march him through Solitude the day before to have Beirand outfit him with a leftover set of armor.

"Thank you," he said quietly, tucking the bottle into the sack and tying it closed. They'd given him every piece of food he could carry and a few extra potions, so he had more than enough to get him to Dawnstar. The daggers from the Keep weighed down his pack, but they'd fetch a good price from the blacksmith there.

Aneira hung back a bit, still desperately trying not to argue with the distraught man again.

While he'd taken the news about the dragons in stride, with all the forced bravery she'd come to expect from the Nords, her revelation as to what she was had been less easy to swallow. To Thorald, the idea that the Dragonborn, Talos reborn, could even think of siding with the Empire that had abandon its founder's divinity was intolerable. Even if she hadn't joined the Legion, her disgust with Ulfric had made it quite plain that she would never join the Stormcloaks either.

The Empire had without a doubt slipped from its former glory and honor. But Aneira had seen what Skyrim would fall into with Ulfric and his Stormcloaks in charge, and that was far from tolerable to her either. The White-Gold Concordat was keeping a tenuous peace until Cyrodiil could strike back against the Elves. The Nords in Ulfric's camps were simply angry bigots.

But she couldn't possibly argue with anymore Thorald over this point. The Thalmor had kept him locked away like a dog, and the Empire had known where he was and hadn't lifted a finger to free him. There could be no defense that would make a difference to the hurting Nord now.

"Be careful out there," Aneira said as Jordis back away. She stood with her back to High Gate Ruins, giving her Thane and soon to be departed companion some space. "The Thalmor aren't usually this far north, but now you know there's a great deal more to fear than them. And that Imperial camp is just east of here." Smiling softly, she added, "Try not to start any fights."

Thorald gave her a small chuckle, nodding and bracing a hand on her shoulder. "I thank you again, friend. You've given me my life back."

"It was my pleasure to help your family, and to rout out some of those fiends in the bargain," Aneira answered simply, clasping a hand over his. "And before you go, let me just say something."

Thorald grimaced, no doubt knowing the tenor of her words, but he did not try to stop her.

"I will make sure that you are always welcome in Whiterun if you ever feel that it is safe to return. But you should know," she said seriously, "that the day may come when I will have to choose a side in all of this. I'm trying to avoid that, truth be told, but," she patted his hand, letting it fall away as he took a step back. "Be far, far away from any of the Stormcloak camps if that day should arise. Alright?"

Thorald looked grim, and he clearly thought she was in the wrong over her loyalties. But in the end, he nodded slowly.

"I'm going to give your family word that you are alive. Don't make me a liar too soon." Aneira tried to lighten the mood with her joke, stepping away from him and back to where Jordis was waiting.

The man obliged her, giving her a handsome smile before grunting in agreement. "Farewell, Dragonborn. Thank you for everything you did for me."

He turned away then, and began the long walk toward Dawnstar and Skald's protection, assuming the Imperial camp in the mountains didn't cause him any problems and he was careful along the coast.

Jordis nudged their shoulders together, making her wolf armor clink against Jordis's steel. "Well, my Thane. That was quite the first adventure. Should I expect that type of action every time you come to the city?"

Aneira laughed softly without really realizing it, the first bit of genuine humor she'd had since they'd attacked Northwatch only the morning before.

"May not be taking down Thalmoric forts every time, but unfortunately yes." Glancing at her young housecarl, she smiled a little. "You're in for a long haul if you want to stick with me."

Jordis grinned a little wickedly. "I've never been so happy to be put to work."

Aneira let out another breath of laughter, trying to calm herself from her turbulent thoughts with her easy going housecarl's presence. But her eyes inevitably followed the shrinking Gray-Mane's trail, and her features pinched again.

"You saved his life, Aneira." Jordis spoke up to her left as they watched the man slowly make his way out of sight. "What he chooses to do with it now is not your responsibility. Or your fault," the blonde added pointedly. "And a man must always do what he believes to be right, even when we don't all agree."

Aneira hummed in agreement. "That is true. And it isn't really my place to gainsay any adult. But," she shook her head in helplessness. "I promised his mother that I would bring her son back to her if he was still living. That I would do everything in my power to deliver him home safely." Thorald winked out of sight as a strong gust of wind and snow rolled down the mountain between them all. "It may sound self-absorbed, but it's been some time since I broke a promise like this." Aneira thought of Fralia's tired face, the lines that ran so deep with worry. "He's been saved from the Thalmor for now, that true. I'd much rather tell Fralia that he's alive than not. But like this? He's just out of the frying pan and into the fire."

Jordis seemed to chew on her words, making Aneira turn away to move back toward the other woman down the trail.

"The Gray-Manes asked you to save their son and brother." The blonde reached down to pick up her pack, wincing at the load of weapons and food she'd carried from the Keep. "That's what matters to them."

The Dragonborn mimicked her housecarl, hoisting her loot higher onto her shoulders. "You're right," she said simply, even if it didn't erase the sadness churning in her gut. The sun was still rising above them, early morning light making she and her housecarl turn their faces into the warmth.

"For everything else? He'll have the strength it took to survive those monsters to keep him alive. And I guess he'll just have to remember your advice." Jordis looked at her, face resigned, and Aneira turned them east back to Solitude so they could stock up again and turn around to bring the news to the sweet old jeweler and her brusque and honorable husband that, for now, their son was alive.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aneira keeps Julianos and his blessings close. She prays for wisdom in the steps she takes.
> 
> Sometimes what is wise for the Dragonborn is not what the Dragonborn can live with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place before IYLOWAK and Indebted, but long after Upstream.

The children and Constance had been asleep for about an hour now.  From the small fenced play area, Aneira had been able to hear the noise in the main hall die down to nothing once the Imperial woman and young ones finished their daily chores.  Constance had bid them all good night and turned in herself after midnight from what Aneira could see with detect life.

The old woman had retreated into her own room some time before that, snapping at the kids one more time before slamming a door.

Aneira shifted her shoulders, body cramping a little from sitting against the stone wall.  The dark tunic and pants she wore left her cold, but they kept her covered well thanks to the addition of a thief’s hood she’d long since taken from a reckless Guild member.  If anyone in the orphanage saw her, they wouldn’t recognize her past the ordinary clothes, hood, and dark green war paint handprint she’d thrown on her face.  No one had seen her jump behind the stone fence, thanks to a sizeable collection of invisibility potions, but it was too risky to open the door next to the children’s beds.  She had to wait until well after dark, when no one would notice when she jumped back out and slipped inside the main double doors.

She brought up her left hand every so often, cloaking it in purple to watch the pattern of the guard’s movements around the marketplace through detect life.  They usually left Honorhall alone.

The Dragonborn waited.

* * *

 

_She’d thought Aventus had been exaggerating._

_The smell of sour milk and scraps that should have been thrown to the wild dogs was the first clue.  The filthy dining tables were visible after a few steps through the unlocked door, covered in a layer of grime that rested against the wood beneath the unwashed plates, bowls, and ancient cutlery.  Some held the remains of bits of cheese that weren’t meant to be moldy, or crusts of bread that looked hard and unpalatable.  There wasn’t any meat on the table beyond a slice of salmon steak, and the vegetables were raw or dried and mealy._

_The second clue came when Aneira moved further into the house, frowning at the bottles upon bottles of mead and wine that sat out on the shelves near the door.  The bottles looked newer than some of the food attracting bugs on the table._

_The third clue came from the grating voice around the corner, unseen and unpleasant.   Her eyes went wide as she realized what was being said._

_“Those who shirk their duties will get an extra beating.”_

_An elderly woman with a pinched pale face and cruel eyes stood among four children, turning in a circle around them as she berated their bent heads._

_“And one more thing!  I will hear no more talk of adoptions,” she sneered, purple and weathered face twisting.  “None of you riff-raff is getting adopted.  Nobody needs you, nobody wants you.”_

_The Dragonborn hadn’t needed a fourth clue, but that was more than enough._

* * *

 

The door still creaked as she opened it, drawing a wince after she’d secured it again.  She waited for a moment, listening to see if anyone would approach.  The old building remained quiet, even with Constance’s room so close.  Her left-hand cast detect life again, revealing all horizontal lifeforms.

Quickly casting muffle again, Aneira crept past the dining table until she reached the main hall.  She paused again, waiting.

The children slept on.

She was grateful that the fire was almost entirely banked, even as she was certain the residents shivered in their beds.  The handle of the double doors was cold, and she pulled as lightly as possible until the door finally gave.

The old woman was asleep in her bed, the room dimly lit by firelight.

Aneira closed the door behind her with a soft click, staying in a crouched position as she crept to the other side of the bed.

Grelod was deeply cocooned in her fur blankets, snoring slightly.

Her eyes popped open shock as Aneira’s gloved hands came down: one on her shoulder, and one on her mouth.

“Do not scream,” she warned.

Jerking a little, the woman blinked rapidly for a moment.  But soon her eyes narrowed back into their usual position.  Aneira glared back.

“We’re going to have a few words, Grelod.”

* * *

 

_“My Jarl, you cannot allow this to continue.  The woman is-”_

_“Grelod has provided a home to orphaned and helpless children for decades, Thane Aneira.  She is perfectly capable of disciplining and tending to their needs as she sees fit.”_

_Jarl Laila passed the bowl of grilled leeks to her housecarl, barely looking up from her luxurious supper to make eye contact with Aneira._

_“Quite.  And surely there are more pressing matters to be dealt with than a few unruly children that require strict guidance.”  Anuriel added coolly, unafraid to look the Dragonborn in the face.  “Or don’t you think the civil war and the dragons should take precedence?”_

_Aneira felt her face grow stony, watching as Anuriel went back to her venison without a care in the world._

_“On the contrary,” she bit out politely, “the safety and well-being of children in your hold and under your care at that orphanage should be extremely important.  Especially considering this whole situation can be rectified with a single document.  It would hardly take more than a few minutes to draw up the document removing Grelod from her position.”_

_“And who would you have run the place instead?  You?” Anuriel sliced a clean piece of meat, chewing on it in mock contemplation as she watched Aneira again._

_Roggi was sitting down at the end of the Jarl’s long dinner table, slowly eating the bit of beef the servants had put in front of him.  He looked decidedly uncomfortable, sitting for the first time in a Jarl’s longhouse while his companion argued with her.  Roggi was not a cowardly man, nor was he meek.  When Aneira had begun to make her case against Grelod, Roggi had piped up that the woman seemed touched in the head, barely even noticing that he and Aneira were in the house. But having a mine laborer argue against the Jarl, her Steward, and her wealthy dinner guests wasn’t accomplishing much today.  The blonde had been predominantly ignored._

_“There is already an assistant that does most of the work in the house anyway,” Aneira replied in exasperation.  “Constance.  Put her in charge of things.  Stendarr’s mercy, the old woman isn’t even allowing adopt-”_

_“What would you have us do with Grelod then, Dragonborn?”  Maven Black-Briar spoke calmly from her seat not far from the Jarl’s side.  “Cast her out into the cold?  After years of loyal and dedicated service to the hold?  Surely you don’t intend to treat an old woman so cruelly.”_

_“An excellent point, Maven.  And we have no funds in our coffers to pay Grelod some sort of stipend to live elsewhere.  No, it would be best if Grelod continue to run the orphanage.  We’ve never had any complaints before now, and all the children reach the age of majority without incident.”  Laila nodded with a smile to the Dragonborn, moving on to speak with Anuriel again.  “We should look into sending more troops along the northern roads.  I don’t want to take any chances with the ore from Shor’s stone.”_

_“Of course, my Jarl.  I’ll look into diverting a few more from the road South of the Capital.”  Anuriel glanced at Aneira again.  “Since our Thane intends to take care of those awful bandits holed up in the fort, we won’t need as many down that way.”_

* * *

 

“Think you can intimidate me? In my own orphanage? Ha!” The old woman scoffed, straightening her spine as she sat back against the headboard of her bed.  “Who do you think you are?”

“A person with some shred of decency!” Aneira glared at the scowling weathered face, the deep wrinkles cast in stark relief in the dim torchlight. “Who do you think _you_ are? What gives you the right to beat innocent children?”

“What are you, stupid?” Grelod snapped back. “ _I_ am their guardian! I can do as I damn well please.” The old woman swung her legs around the bed, curled and purple toes seeking out her slippers. “Barging into an old woman’s room in the middle of the night like some sort of ruffian. You wait until the Jarl hears about this! I'm going to get the guards-”

Aneira gripped Grelod by the left arm, fingers circling her bicep before shoving her back onto the mattress.  “Get the guards? You? And tell them what?” Grelod growled back, lips pursed out as her eyes blazed.  Aneira pointed a finger toward the wall, indicating the sleeping children beyond.  “Are you going to explain the fresh bruises on those children? Or the scars?”  The Dragonborn kept her voice a low hiss, desperate both to leave the children in the outer room to their sleep as well as keep her identity hidden. She couldn’t afford to have this known, not after speaking to the Jarl.  Every second since entering the orphanage was a risk.  “What are you even _doing_ to them?  What are those wounds on their wrists? Do you tie them up?”

The old woman’s eyes darted away from Aneira’s face, lighting on the wall behind her as her wrinkled lips curled into a frown.  Grelod said nothing in response, leaning back on her bed and pulling her legs away from Aneira’s.

“ _What_ do you _do?_ ” Aneira demanded, leaning her body over the crone’s as she reigned in her temper.

Nothing about this was wise.  Aneira had no misgivings about that.  Julianos, her most turned to adviser, was not who she had prayed to when asking for guidance in this.

* * *

 

_Roggi hurried away from the graveyard and back into the marketplace, giving a last quick goodbye over his shoulder.  Aneira closed her eyes, hands reaching into her sack for the amulet of Stendarr she and Roggi had taken from the murdered Vigilants of Stendarr along the road just the day before._

_“God of mercy,” she whispered, while reaching out to the shrine of Talos, letting a blessing wash over her.  “Give me guidance in this.”_

_Ever since coming to Skyrim, Aneira felt herself praying to the compassionate and lawful god more and more; in Helgen, when she begged for deliverance when she woke up in that carriage. In Bleak Falls, when she faced the undead for the first time.  Another time outside Whiterun, when she’d helped the guards and Irileth slay a dragon.  Countless more when thugs and daedra and beasts of every nature came upon her._

_What did mercy and compassion call for?  Spare one cruel human, even at the expense of those she would continue to hurt, because she was a life Aneira didn’t have the right to take? Or spare the innocents the pain of staying with that horrible wretch until they were finally sixteen and thrown out into the world?_

_“Protect the weak, heal the sick, and give to the needy.”  She recited the creed to herself again and again, staring at the shrine of Talos while holding an Amulet of Stendarr until the sun had long since slipped beyond the mountains._

* * *

 

The young woman couldn’t say if Stendarr was with her now.

“Why do you keep looking over there?” Aneira whispered lowly, turning to face the wall. There wasn't anything there that she could see, only the usual tanned hide nailed to the wood and the door back into the main room along the side.

Grelod lurched, making an uncoordinated attempted to get off the other side of the bed.  Aneira pulled back with a curse, moving to the foot of the bed while raising her right hand with a blue green light.

The calm spell landed right on the caretaker’s chest, bringing up short the large breath she'd sucked in.  The air sped out of her again as she exhaled calmly.

“Stay there,” Aneira ordered quietly, watching as Grelod turned to look at her with a slow blink.

Hurrying on quiet feet, Aneira went back outside Grelod’s room to peer out at the children.  They hadn't moved that she could see, still shifting on their tiny beds. She exhaled in relief before stepping out into the room, her ordinary clothing and soft boots allowing her to move without any excessive noise.  Another calming spell struck Grelod’s body, giving her enough time to look around quickly.

There was another set of double doors to the left of Grelod’s room, closed at the moment. It would be exactly beyond the wall in Grelod's room, with limited space before the main building wall.

Aneira swallowed, sweat beginning to bloom on her head.  She brought her right hand up again, letting detect life seek out the living bodies in the orphanage. To her paradoxical relief and apprehension, nothing began to glow beyond the doors.

Keeping a careful ear on the children and spelled-Grelod, Aneira opened the doors as quietly as possible.  Muffle could only do so much to help her, especially with one of the boys so close.

The room within was dark, nearly pitch black and windowless.  She would have to use a light to see what was inside, and that would mean going in and closing the door behind her.

That meant another shot of calm at Grelod before it faded and she started hollering for the guards.

Darting back to the dark room, Aneira hurriedly closed the door behind her before bringing up magelight.  It landed on the far wall only a few feet away.

Aneira stumbled back into the wall.

Numb horror filled her mind as she stared at the newly illuminated metal.

The shackles were dark iron, place low enough along the wall that a child’s feet could reach the ground, but high enough that their wrists and shoulders would bear the strain of most of their weight.

Reaching out with a trembling hand, Aneira moved to close one of the latches. They were tight enough to draw blood, much like the scars Hroar had tried to hide from her with his sleeve.

Stendarr was not here with Grelod.  And he would not be here for her now.

* * *

 

_With a wave goodbye, Aneira watched Roggi head off into the night to find friends and laughter at the Bee and Barb.  He’d become very fond of Talen-Jei’s specialty drinks, although Aneira had started to worry that he would spend all his coin and end up in the same situation he’d been in back at Kynesgrove._

_Aneira had told Roggi that she was going out into Skyrim for the night to gather alchemy ingredients.  Roggi, as she expected, hadn’t been overly interested in catching luna moths and torchbugs._

_Iona had only nodded, watching her as always with those probing eyes.  Aneira had wondered idly who Iona actually reported on her to: Maven or Anuriel.  It hardly mattered, since she didn’t give her much to go on.  But she couldn’t have Iona offering to follow her for the night.  It would cause too many problems to try to lose her._

_Her tenacity for planning for as many details as possible would aid her tonight, but it couldn’t cover everything that might happen in Skyrim’s city of thieves._

_She left through the side door of Honeyside, changing hurriedly out of her usual scaled armor and into the long sleeves of the brown tunic and pants she’d collected from Cragslane a few weeks before.  The armor was all left under the porch dining table, with a prayer that Iona wouldn’t come out to find it._

_Moving quickly, Aneira took her fishing boat to the mostly unused portion of fishery docks before shoving it powerfully back toward Honeyside. It would rest against the shore, and wouldn’t raise any alarm should a passerby see it._

_If she had to jump in the water after her conversation with Grelod, so be it._

_The invisibility potion and muffle spell got her back inside behind one of the guards on patrol through the doors at the fishery, and the bitter drink lasted long enough for her to leap over the low stone wall to wait for the orphanage to be silent._

* * *

 

“You-” Aneira couldn’t finished, choking on the words while the latest calming spell faded.  Grelod blinked blearily a few times, looking around the room for a moment before taking a step back.

“Get out.”  The wretch ordered, not bothering to modulate her voice low enough.  But Aneira was past caring.

“How do you sleep at night?” Aneira whispered, moving closer until Grelod was sitting down on her bed again, still trying to shift backwards.  Her mouth twisted into another sneer.

“Just fine, when worthless Riften gutter trash isn’t waking me up!”  The crone sat up straighter, reaching up with her left hand to point a crooked finger at Aneira’s chest.  “That’s all you are.  And I’ve had enough of your filth for one night.”

Aneira seized that raised hand, fingers wrapping tightly around the pale bony wrist.

“You torture children.”  Even as she said it, even as she remembered the small room, Aneira couldn’t quite believe it.  Her voice still held that incredulous note, even as she tried to sound fierce.  “You _torture children_.”

Her father had been a healer.  Her grandmother taught her potions of healing before all others.  Her mother had told her of the necessity to kill in battle, where at least there would be honor in death.

Her family had taught her to value the lives of others.

The Dragonborn valued the lives of the four children sleeping battered and beaten in the other room.

More than her conscience.

And more than the wicked woman cursing at Aneira to let her go.

She tightened her grip, letting her magicka concentrate around her fingers until it bloomed into the crackle of lightning.

Grelod stiffened, her last great inhale turning into a scream.  The shriek escaped before Aneira let the spell release, sending a surge of lighting up the frail and skinny arm for several endless seconds until the cry cut off.

The elderly body collapsed against the bed, legs draped over the edge so that her torso was held aloft by only Aneira’s grip on her wrist.  The 

The Dragonborn released her, letting the arm fall to the bed with a gentle _thump_.  She backed away, moving until her shoulders pressed against the wall opposite the bed.  The wall that separated the bedroom from the shackles.

Sounds had started up in the main room, the frantic whispers of the children slipping past the door.

Aneira watched the doors as the sounds grew nearer, an awful numbness taking over her mind after the fury and disgust that had been choking her in the punishment room. 

Dimly, she understood that her survival instincts had just kicked in.  And they had always been painfully pragmatic.

Throwing up another muffle, she readied her Illusion magicka in both hands.

Heavy footsteps thudded closer until the doors began to move.

“Grelod?  Ma’am, are you alright?”

Constance opened the doors to a blast of calm against her heart, leaving her wide eyes drooping and unfocused.  The children were huddled behind her, looking around in the darkness and blinking sleepily.

She couldn’t hesitate now.  Aneira kept her head turned away from the light as she rushed past Constance, feeling the children yelp and gasp as pushed through them and headed toward the door.

“Oh, hello.” Constance spoke distantly.  “What did you need?”

Aneira pressed her lips tightly together to hold back her apology, unable to do anything except launch one final calm at Constance before she left the orphanage, desperate to buy herself a few extra seconds before the guards came running.  The children’s voices were already raised in alarm as their main caretaker stood motionless among them.

There was no chance that Constance wasn’t going to scream bloody murder, almost literally, once that illusion spell faded.

The Bruma native was out the main door in seconds, darting into the darkness while her fingers felt frantically for the last invisibility potion in her small satchel.  She drank it down hurriedly before moving away from the wooden wall, sprinting without much concern for the tap of her feet on the marketplace bridges as she sped toward the doors at the fishery.

The invisibility potion was dispelled as she went through the door at the fishery, and the large door closed just as Constance’s scream pierced the night air.  It echoed over the still water of the lake as Aneira dashed for the dock closest to Honeyside and dove swiftly into the chilled water.

Once she was safely standing on her back porch again, incriminating clothing removed and war paint thoroughly scrubbed away, Aneira let herself sink to the wooden planks and rest her back against the house.  Her head hit the wood slowly, the weathered grain of the logs digging into her scalp through her hair as the Dragonborn listened to the gentle-hearted woman’s hysterical cries.


End file.
